


in the city, on the streets

by rhapsodies



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhapsodies/pseuds/rhapsodies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey’s seen that look before; alternatively, a galactic soap opera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the city, on the streets

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is gratuitous Rey meddling in other people's relationships that lets me write more about Rey because I love her and I want her to be my space girlfriend. Naturally, don't read this if you haven't seen The Force Awakens, unless spoilers give you kicks.
> 
> Also: I mimicked BB-8's mannerisms on how they are in Gretah's fucking awesome fic [the coat thief](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5460125?view_adult=true) which, if you haven't read, you should definitely do.
> 
> Title (shamelessly) taken from ELO's _Mr Blue Sky ___, which has been my bop since forever.

i.

Being back on D’Qar is nothing like Rey expected. She’s only been here for a few hours, and she already knows that everything has changed.

First of all, the whole base is thrumming with a new sense of purpose, which is easy enough to understand. Luke Skywalker, Rey has come to realise, is more than a myth to these people- he’s a sign, to them, that the fight against the First Order is one that the Resistance might have a chance of _winning._

Rey knows that walking off of the Millenium Falcon with Luke has branded her. They all look at her differently now; they respect her, fear her.

 _I’m their next hope._ It’s a strange thought, flickering through her mind as she slips across base to medbay. But the idea that tugs at her the most is that Finn will look at her with accusation, a fear carried over from years of loneliness and waiting patiently for a family who never came back.

Apparently, Finn has other plans.

“And where do you think you’ve been?” He demands, sitting up in his cot with a wince that he doesn’t _quite_ succeed at hiding.

“I was-”

“I know _where_ you were,” Finn says contrarily, and grins so hard the skin around his eyes starts to crinkle. “You know, I’ve missed you like hell.”

Rey allows herself to pat his hand. “I missed you too,” she admits, and that’s all they ever say about it. Some part of her, half-buried, screams for vengeance in fire and blood, for what Ren did to Finn and to avenge Han Solo- but she tightens the flow of emotions, locks it inside. She’s been in Luke Skywalker’s company for less than a week and she’s already training to balance her fury.

All of that passes through her mind, and then she realises that although Finn isn’t out to leave her alone, she’s no longer the only link keeping him from running. And she finds it out after she makes her way to medbay in a haze of post-training fatigue and finds an unknown man sitting by Finn’s cot.

“Rey,” Finn calls out, and once she gets closer, introduces the man as, “Poe Dameron. I pretty much owe him- everything.”

“You’re the one who saved _my_ life,” Poe returns.

Realisation clicks into Rey’s mind. “BB-8 belongs to _you_ ,” she says. “I thought- Finn said you were dead.”

“Oh, slight misunderstanding,” Poe says cheerfully, and launches into an expansive account of his (almost) death that makes Rey forget that all her goddamn bones are aching.

It’s a relief, really, to know that there’s someone to keep Finn company when she’s too drained to head anywhere but her rooms. Besides, Poe Dameron is a good man, as far as she can tell, even if his ego stretches out to the next system and then some. Rey’s met worse people.

 “You sure you don’t need your jacket back?” Finn asks him once. “It’s not getting much wear like this.”

 They’re all cooped up in medbay, a rare enough occasion that highlights how little intelligence the Resistance really has on the First Order, and how much they’re relying on _her._ Hell.

“I already told you,” Dameron says, and he looks amused. “You wear it better than I ever did.”

“Dude. I’m not even wearing it _at all_. Unless you count looking at it.”

“Some things are better for the wait,” Dameron replies, looking down at his holo, and then back up again. He doesn’t seem to know where to put his eyes at all, poor git.

Uncrossing her legs, Rey says, “I think you should keep it.”

The look Dameron gives her is sincerely surprised, like he’d forgotten she was even in the room. Rey chokes down the urge to lash out and send his chair flying across the room.

 “You think?” Finn asks slowly, but he’s not looking at her.

The pilot shrugs a shoulder and chuckles. “Yeah,” he says, without hesitation, “I want you to keep it.” And then he touches his fingers to the palm of Finn’s hand and, without missing a beat, tells him, “But you better not fuck it up again, bud. I don’t want you destroying my lucky charm.”

 “Lucky,” Finn repeats, waving a hand down his body in a way, Rey thought, was a little too sarcastic.

Dameron makes a face, but doesn’t look away. “We’re both still alive,” he says. Rey can’t fault the man’s logic.

And then both of them stare at each other, unblinking, until Finn grins in a way that makes him look years younger. “Oh, sure, your jacket saved my life. You’re so full of shit, ace.”

Rey looks between them, cross-legged on the floor, and then clarity hits her like being thrown headfirst into hyperspace.

 _I know that look._ She couldn’t have placed it, before now, but watching as Finn laughs and Dameron gazes at him, bedroom eyes and slouched in the chair, she understands. _So that’s how it is._

There were families on Jakku, people she saw since she was ten, eleven- Rey doesn’t remember exactly when she first started to take notice, only that she did, watching and assessing. But she’d been alone, and teaching herself to make a living (such as it was; scraps from star destroyer wrecks would never have made her rich) was a slow business. Then, one day, she’d seen one particular couple of the other scavengers. There was this woman, her grimy face lined and sun-weathered, and a man, equally as wizened, had reached out and kissed her leathery cheek. The woman had looked up in surprise, and her eyes then had the same look that Finn’s do now, and Rey might’ve been a child then but she’s never forgotten it. They’d noticed her staring, afterwards, and clicked at her in a language she didn’t understand yet to _beat it, kid._

Sometimes- in her dreams, or in the moments just before she dreams, her parents look at each other that way, even if their faces flicker and blend since she can’t remember exactly how they looked, anymore.

Anyway. Finn’s eyes are just that sort of gentle, is the point, and Rey would do almost anything to keep that look on his face, although she go to her grave before she admits it.

So watching them is a little like that one memory from Jakku. Only it’s different, because this time it’s Finn, and Rey figures if anyone deserves the good life, it’s him.

 

ii.

Just because Rey can see what’s happening here, doesn’t mean that everyone else does. For the next few weeks she watches as Dameron tries his level best every morning to make Finn laugh, and a flare of satisfaction twinges in the pit of Rey’s stomach every time it works (a spit in the face of the First Order, every time); watches Finn mooning when he thinks no one else is looking. And then she watches the both of them, travelling around each other like moons knocked off-orbit.

Rey is patient. She had to be, after a lifetime of digging in Jakku’s sand for useless parts of an old Empire, from painstakingly scrubbing grime off each part to make it worth selling. Luke is teaching her to be better at it, especially since most of her patience springs from waiting, and that’s rooted deep in anger.

It’s still maddening as hell, watching the two of them bumble around.

“Oh, come on,” she mutters.

Dameron has been helping Finn regain the use of his legs for as long as Rey’s been visiting medbay. It’s slow progress, but a lightsabre sliced up the back will do that to a person. It means that Finn’s arm is across Dameron’s shoulders, and Dameron’s hand hovers over Finn’s waist, and the two of them stand close enough that Rey notices, but far enough away that neither of them mention it. Rey, under the pretext of meditation, is observing, measuring with a scavenger’s meticulous consideration.

“Just a little further,” Dameron says. He sounds just about as hopeful as Rey feels. “We can make it to the door today, buddy.”

Finn, sweat beading on his forehead, hisses something in a low voice that Rey doesn’t catch but was probably an insult to Dameron’s parentage.

“Eyes on the prize,” Dameron says, steering Finn forwards.

“Bite me.”

Rey doesn’t doubt he means it as an insult, but she guesses that Dameron might take it either way.

Finn shuffles forward one more step, his whole body trembling. “Guys,” he says, through gritted teeth.

Before Rey can jump out of her uncomfortable bedside seat, Dameron’s sprung into action, both arms circled around Finn’s body, his broad shoulders and lean torso, supporting all of Finn’s weight. They’re approximately five more paces from the door.

Finn shifts in Dameron’s hold, and presses his head against Dameron’s shoulder. It must be quite a feat, Rey reckons, since Dameron is shorter than him.

“You almost made it this time,” Dameron says, lying through his teeth. “Next time you’ll get it.”

The expression on Finn’s face is fondly disbelieving, in contrast with his hangdog shoulders and heavy breaths. He has to lean up against Dameron to walk back to his cot, but at least he’s no longer on the verge of collapse. Some of the fear in Rey’s mind disintegrates. For as long as she can remember, she’s never had anyone to worry about –her memories of Jakku are the ever-shifting sand and the living alone, days running into weeks running into years– and it’s odd, looking out for Finn. Odd in that it’s _nice._

 “Sure I did,” Finn says. “And last time, I almost made it then too.” He scrubs the back of his free hand against his forehead. “Face it, man. That door and me are never going to be friends.”

BB-8 rolls over to Finn’s side and butts gently at his shin.

[Incorrect.]

“That’s more like it,” Rey says. When Finn’s back lying (safely) in bed, she takes his hand gently. “Stop complaining,” she tells him. “The docs say you’re getting better every day.”

“You think so?” Finn asks. Rey thinks he’s trying to sound unconcerned; if she’s right, then he failed miserably.

It’s the wording that matters; Finn cares for _her_ opinion, not the medidroids. As if Rey knows anything about recovery.

“I do,” she insists anyway, and huffs a laugh. “Although that’s not medically approved.”

“What the fuck ever,” Finn says, beaming, and tightens his grip on her fingers.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the mission to reach the medbay door was Dameron’s brainchild, which explains both the damn idiocy of doing too much, too fast, and Finn’s determination to bust a gut getting there.

Rey can’t decide whether she should tell him to lay off for a while. All precedent and rational logic suggest that Finn would listen to her opinion, denounce it as shitty, and continue on as before. She taps her knee thoughtfully. Dameron is putting a boatload of effort into _wooing_ Finn, or whatever it is that he’s doing, and she doesn’t really want to interfere.

 “ _Fuck,_ ” Finn gasps, and pushes forward with another monumental blue streak of cursing. Like an afterthought, he says, “Sorry, Rey,” which was really just unnecessary.

“Heard worse.” _Much_ worse, in all honesty, but Finn hadn’t spent long enough on Jakku to know.

Dameron laughs, and BB-8 circles around their feet. “I believe you’ve been palling around with pilots too long.”

“Pilot,” Rey enunciates in a low voice. “Singular.” Neither of them hear.

“Maybe I have,” Finn returns, and grips Poe’s forearm for support. “Kriff, this hurts.” Then he pauses, and muses, “And I look _terrible._ This has gotta be doing bad things for my game.”

“You look just fine.”

Finn’s eyes snap up the same second that Dameron’s cheeks start to burn. “Uh,” Dameron says. From across the room, Rey bites back a genuine grin. “I meant- you’re doing fine. Is what I meant. Not that you don’t look good, too.”

 “Right,” Finn says, staring at Dameron’s hand on his forearm. He bites his lip.

Dameron stares at nothing, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “You going to make me wait here all day, or what?”

Finn laughs lowly, a rumble in his throat. He’s now staring fixedly at the automated door, so he’s completely unaware of Dameron’s eyes on him, or the naked honesty there. Rey _almost_ feels uncomfortable, an intruder, and she holds her breath in the dead silence. At last Finn says, “C’mon, fucker, I can get further than this today,” and they restart their slow dance across the room.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Rey sighs, as quiet as she dares. Perhaps if Dameron had given Finn a verbal love-letter, then Finn might’ve pulled his head out of his ass long enough to realise that Dameron is soft on him like Rey’s never seen. She spares a moment to pity their respective inabilities.

BB-8 rolls up to her side, and tells her, [Humans are inept.]

“Tell me about it, BB,” Rey says, and crosses the room to take Finn’s other arm. His posture is starting to list sideways, and Dameron’s so distracted by Finn being Finn that he’s unlikely to notice until they’re both on the floor.

 

iii.

Once Finn does reach medbay’s door, after weeks of strenuous cursing at everyone in the vicinity, his entire body seems to deflate with a gust, and Rey  has to help him back to his cot so he can rest. She eases into the hard chair beside him, watching him most of the time and half-heartedly attempting to meditate the rest.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Dameron says, BB-8 bowling alongside him. Though, Rey’s now known him long enough that she calls him _Poe_ in her head, which catches her off-guard. “How’s he doing?”

“Exhausted,” Rey says, unfurling herself. Maybe she’d been meditating for longer than she thought; the Blue Squadron left hours ago to run recon, and it feels like no time at all. She motions for ~~Dameron~~ Poe to take the chair, but he waves her off. “No, no, I’m fine,” he says, and laughs. “I’ve been sitting in a cockpit for hours. This is a relief, trust me.”

The both of them watch Finn, for a second; he’s still sleeping soundly, thank the stars, with his mouth open slightly and looking as peaceful as she’s ever seen him. Really, no one should be as worried as Finn is all the time. The medidroids have informed her that constant low-level stress is invariably bad for a person’s health. The grazes and bruises left over from Starkiller are starting to fade, what’s more. It’s unnerving to realise how much that means to her.

Rey hums, flexes her fingers. When she loosens her neck muscles, she catches sight of Poe properly for the first time since he came in, dressed up to the nines in garish orange. It’s sweet, she thinks. No one else’s medbay cubby has a pilot run fresh out of their starfighter to come and see them.

“Nice outfit,” she says, slyly as she can manage.

“Huh?” Poe says, his eyes sliding from Finn to her before looking down at his pilot get-up. “Oh, right. I was...on my way. To get changed.”

[Incorrect,] BB-8 inputs. [You wanted to see Friend-Finn.]

“Getting changed. Sure,” Rey says, smiling in amusement. Poe’s whole face flames up like sunset, and he looks guiltier than Rey’s ever seen (almost) anyone. He’s not fooling anyone.

Poe gnaws on his lower lip. “He’s going to be fine,” he says suddenly. It’s not really a question.

“Yeah,” Rey says, answering it anyway.

“Good, thats, that’s great,” Poe says to her, and his body relaxes a little under all that fabric.

She turns back to look at him when he’s already halfway towards the door. “You know he wouldn’t have worked so hard if it wasn’t for you,” she calls softly.

“Bullshit,” Poe says. “He did it for himself,” and walks off. Hopefully to change; the air around Rey reeks of motor oil and sweat.

Finn wakes up around two hours after Poe left, rolling his shoulders and stretching with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Rey,” he says sleepily, his voice scratchy and dangerously warm. “How long was I out?”

“Few hours.”

Scrubbing at his face, Finn’s face slips into alertness with surprising speed. “When was Poe here?” He asks, sitting up and tugging at his medical robes.

“Only a couple of hours ago,” she says, and adds with interest, “how’d you know he was here?”

“It _stinks_ in here, Rey. I don’t know if you realised. Those pilots, they leave a scent behind. They’re like animals.”

Rey laughs a little to herself, and absently goes to sort out Finn’s covers. When she focuses her mind, she can hear (although it’s not _hearing,_ really, it’s more just a sort of knowing) Finn’s steady heartbeat. “Yeah, you think they’re just awful,” she says sardonically.

Although she spends a little longer with Finn, training monopolizes her attention for the next hours. It’s a hell of a lot different to anything she did as a scavenger, powers like she never even thought of in the darkest hours of the night. It’s surreal. She’s spent so long waiting to get off Jakku that it seems improbable she even made it this far, and now- now she has monoliths of men telling her she’s the missing piece in the game.

Luke Skywalker is hardened and serious; he’s taken it personally, Kylo Ren’s fall from grace. Rey admires him for it: for coming back at all.

She’s whacked enough from training that she’s crept halfway across the med-room before she notices Poe’s slumped in the chair by Finn’s bunk, eyes closed and mouth open. Finn’s awake, though, and he motions her to keep quiet before jabbing in Poe’s general direction. “He’s asleep,” Finn mouths, exaggerated, and points again.

“Yes, I got that much, thanks,” she whispers, and rolls her eyes.

She sits on the edge of Finn’s bed, instead, watching him watch Poe. He’s even smiling, the poor sap.  “Why didn’t you kick him out?”

“You think I didn’t try that? He wouldn’t leave,” Finn says, his voice low and cautious.

Poe snores a little, unrepentant.

 “His neck is gonna _ache_ when he wakes up. Poor bastard is gonna ache worse than me, for once.”

“That’s unlikely,” Rey says, and settles herself more comfortably, ignoring the quiet reproaches of the medidroids.

Finn nudges at her with his toe. “So what fucked-up Force stuff can you do now, then?”

“You’ll never even guess,” Rey says immediately, and begins a whispered retelling of moving everything, _everything,_ in the room at once with her mind.

 

iv.

“This is disgusting,” Rey says, and swallows the last of her drink with a grimace she can’t choke down. “ _Best in the galaxy,_ you said. Why did you say that?”

Poe schools his face into a pathetic approximation of innocence. “It’s not so bad,” he says, but when he takes as sip his face contorts. It was his idea, anyway, to celebrate Finn’s being discharged from medbay by getting shit-faced drunk. It’s not Rey’s area of expertise, seeing as how alcohol has never been something she could afford, and it’s not Finn’s either, but Poe had promised them both that it was a normal custom. She’ll hide all his clothes, tomorrow, she thinks.

“I fucking hate you,” Finn drawls. His head is lolling on to Poe’s shoulder. “I would rather drink my own-”

“Yeah, Finn, thanks for that,” Rey interrupts quickly, slapping a hand over his mouth.

And then, because Finn’s a prick, he licks her hand. She should’ve expected no less.

“That’s,” Poe says, and waves a hand. “That’s gross, bud.”

“I’ll show you gross,” Finn says, flicking his tongue at him. Rey sighs; she’s sitting with the galaxy’s most clueless.

Someone across the room, a member of Blue Squadron, slurs loudly, “Get a room, douchebags!” Whoever they are, Rey likes them already.

“This is already my room,” Finn says, confusion knitting up his brows. Rey pities the guy. “Rey, tell them that this is my room.”

Poe pats him on the shoulder heavily. “They already know.” But Finn doesn’t seem to be listening anymore. His eyes are unnaturally bright, and he says, “Dude, you have like, the nicest hair.”

“Oh, thanks,” Poe says easily. As if that’s the sort of thing he expects to hear every day.

“ _Really nice,”_ Finn emphasizes.

“Hello.” It’s one of the other pilots says. “There is actually a whole room of people here. Right here. Right now. Listening to this.”

“What the fuck ever,” Finn says childishly, and grabs at Poe’s hand. He turns it palm-up, before tracing each finger with his fingertip. Poe sure as kriff has noticed now, is staring down at Finn like he’s never seen him before and if he looks away, he’ll burn up. Rey’s starting to feel creepy just for looking.

“Uh,” Poe says, and Finn slots their hands together. “You wanna tell me what that was?”

“Please,” says someone new. “I feel sick.”

Finn shrugs and looks up. “You’re a good guy, Poe Dameron,” he says, right before he passes out on Poe’s shoulder, his cup slipping from his hand.

Poe, his body starting to relax, cautiously detaches himself from Finn and attempts to prop him up against the wall. “Lightweight,” he tells Rey, who doesn’t doubt it. “He’ll be humiliated about this tomorrow.”

“I think you both will,” Rey says, and catches the eye of one of the pilots behind Poe’s back, sending them her most exasperated look. The pilot immediately begins to crack up, laughing until they’re red-faced.

Poe smiles, obliviously. “He’s a good guy. Finn, I mean.”

“The best,” Rey agrees.

Poe cuts his eyes at her sharply, so he’s most probably not as inebriated as he’s pretending to be. “You really like him, huh,” he says seriously, and twists his head to look at the drooling Finn.

And it’s then that Rey realises; Poe thinks that she’s standing in the way of, well, whatever it is he and Finn have got going on.

Rey had thought that Poe just wasn’t sure if Finn wanted him (which, clearly, Poe doesn’t know the answer to that either) and all his dancing around was just natural reticence. And he’s hidden all this surprisingly well for a man who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut after daybreak. (Rey’s not even gonna consider his predisposition to trust _every single fucking person he meets,_ which is probably going to get him killed).

But she’d never even considered the possibility that Poe saw her as a threat. Stars, the self-titled Best Pilot in the Resistance should be more perceptive than this.

So she glances up at Poe’s face and plans out her next move carefully. “Of course I do,” she says, as casually as she can. “But I think you like him in a whole different way.”

Poe stares at her in a way that’s verging on calculating. “You could have the entire galaxy, you know,” he says, finally- as if it’s not the entire galaxy that wants everything from _her._

“I don’t really want that much.”

“You mean that?” Poe asks, blinking heavily and not meeting her eyes.

“Go get him, hotshot,” Rey tells him firmly, toasting him with another glass of revolting brandy. Poe looks like he might come over and hug her, or something, but hopefully only Finn is foolish even to try that.

“Thanks,” Poe goes for, instead, scratching the back of his neck and reclaiming the bottle from one of his pals. “I don’t- I don’t really know how Finn feels. About me. I know how much he-”

The thing about Finn is, invasively affectionate is essentially his default setting, which is probably a giant ‘fuck you’ to the First Order’s conditioning aside from his natural warmth, and it makes it trickier to read him. But Rey’s watched him talk about Poe, and she’s seen the way he looks at him, talks about him.

(“It was Poe who called me Finn, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“When we were breaking out of the _Finalizer._ ”

“And...you didn’t have bigger issues to talk about?”

“I was getting a bit too carried away with escaping to really give a crap what we talked about.”

“It’s a good name, Finn.”

“It’s a fucking awesome name.”)

“Trust me,” Rey cuts in. She almost pats Poe’s shoulder, but thinks the better of it and leaves her hand drifting in the air, instead. “You’ve got more than a chance.”

Poe’s face flushes darkly, but Rey knows he’s pleased.

 

v.

Rey’s patience is just about worn down to the bone.

In all of her years, she’s been a scavenger, or a fugitive, or even a warrior. She’s never had to play the role of a matchmaker. And, okay, she’s not the most tactful of people, having lost her common niceties in Jakku’s coarse, scorching dunes. So even if she means right, and she _does,_ everything suggests that she should keep away from people’s private business.

But the bottom line is that watching the two of them moon at each other is nauseating, firstly, and secondly- this is a war. There’s no saying that all of them will be allowed to stay alive.

 

“How’d the meeting go?” Poe asks, grabbing at Finn’s forearm and tugging him into a hug.

 “Well.” Finn sits down next to Rey, but opposite Poe, which, and Rey knows from experience, gives him ample opportunity to sneak looks throughout the meal. “It was fine, really, only- I wish I had more to give, you know?”

Poe says, “That’s not your fault.”

Rey wants to bang her head on the tabletop.

“I know,” Finn replies, through a mouthful of food, “but the General’s been so good to me, and I wanted to help. Especially since,” and he cuts himself off sharply, tearing into another bite of his roll.

Yeah- since. There’s a yawning absence in D’Qar’s base since Starkiller. All Rey’s memories of Han Solo are imbued with regret,  and with blind fury, so colossal that she can’t keep it tamped down the way Luke wants her to feel. Sometimes she wants to scream at him, _he was your friend too,_ and it stuns her each time, this new wealth of emotion that she has to lock down. _Control,_ she reminds herself–

“–But no one ever told us much of anything until it happened,” Finn continues, after a pause. “So I can’t even predict what the First Order’s next move is.”

Poe frowns. “You _are_ being helpful. You’ve already done more than most people here.”

Glancing around the mess hall, Rey can’t help but agree. Maybe that’s own her emotions clouding her judgement. Another character failing to work on.

Finn starts speaking, but Poe interrupts. “Finn- you’ve faced off against- against him. Only two people here have ever done that.”

“That wasn’t much,” Finn says, halting. “Rey did more than me.”

“Finn,” Rey says flatly, and reaches out to rest her fingers over his hand. “If you weren’t there, I would be dead right now.”

“So would I,” Poe says.

“Okay, first of all, that’s all coincidence, and second of all, anyone could’ve done that shit.”

Poe groans, and his hand twitches like he wants to smack Finn around the head. Rey gets it. “Finn,” he says. “You’re fucking _extraordinary_ ,” and Finn’s mouth falls open in a moue of shock; his jaw works.

And then one of Poe’s squadron walks past the table, yelling at Poe to get his ass to the hangers before they leave without him.

Finn keeps on sitting there, silently, in Poe Dameron’s goddamn _jacket,_ and Poe’s halfway across the room before Finn stands up and shouts “Safe flying, asshole!”

The two of the stare at each other. Actually, the whole mess hall is staring at them now, the buzz of conversation stopped dead. Poe fiddles with the cuff of his flight suit; Finn toys with his fork, twisting it around with his fingers gracefully. Rey is just about ready to grab the tray and brain the both of them.

“Always do,” Poe calls back at last, with a lazy salute.

“Unbelievable,” Rey sighs, spearing something from her plate that drips grease. Around her, the mess hall noise picks up again, and Finn slumps back down in his chair, staring at his food like it might spout the exact plans of the First Order in rhyme.

Rey’s resigned herself to the fact: she’s going to have to talk to Finn.

* * *

“You’re not half as subtle as you think you are,” Rey says, peering at Finn over her holo.

“What?” Finn asks, and crosses his arms. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“You’re really not,” Rey agrees.

He narrows his eyes at her warily. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Rey places the holo on her lap and glances at him witheringly. “I don’t know why you still think you’re a good liar.”

“Hey, it worked on you!”

“That’s what I let you think,” Rey says loftily. Finn might be right, but she’ll die before admitting it. “Anyway,” she continues. “I can see the way you look at him. _Dameron,”_ she clarifies, when Finn’s face is still screwed up in confusion.

Finn’s entire face screws up in a moue of guilty discomfort. “I don’t,” he starts, but Rey cuts him off. “Sure you don’t,” she says idly, and smiles.

“He’s just a friend,” Finn says uncomfortably.

“I can see the way you look at him,” Rey continues, but gentler. “I know that look.”

“I don’t _look at him_ in any sort of way,” Finn says weakly.

Rey folds her arms and dumps her feet unceremoniously into Finn’s lap. She tries to think on what worked on Finn before; waiting, she decides. Pushing Finn to say anything he doesn’t want to will just be a monumental waste of her time. She focuses her attention back on her holo.

She’s made some headway on learning the history of the ancient Jedi Order before Finn looks back at her and scrubs a hand over his face. Rey can almost pinpoint the moment he gives up: all the tension leaches out of his body, in small puffs of breath. “He’s cute, right? You think he’s cute. Tell me you do.”

“I don’t think anything,” Rey tells him solemnly. “As long as you like him.” Finn smiles a little, just enough that Rey can see his teeth in the darkened lights, and tugs her quickly into a hug before she can stop it, his arms wrapping tight around her midriff. He’s getting too good at doing that. Rey’s gonna maintain he only got the jump on her because she’s tired.

She pats Finn’s arm. “He likes you too, you know,” she says, even though she hasn’t said anything like that since she was a child.

“You didn’t,” Finn begins, and swallows. “You didn’t, like, use the Force for that, right? I mean, that’s gotta be so morally wrong. And Ren already, he already fucked him up with that thing–”

“Finn,” Rey interrupts, and pats his arm. “I don’t need the Force to see the fucking obvious.”

“Oh,” Finn says. “Right.”

 

Poe turns up in medbay just as Rey is about to leave.

“Hey, doll,” he says, looking exhausted and grimy, smeared with oil and soot. Rey raises her hand to him, and leans up by the door, just in case things start to get interesting.

Finn scrambles up from his bunk, batting aside the coos of the medidroid and adjusting his clothes. “Poe,” he says, in what he probably thinks is a casual voice. “How was the-thing?”

“It was fine,” Poe says, wry but smiling crookedly. Neither of them seem to have realised that Rey is still in the room with them.

“Good,” Finn says absently, “cool, that’s. That’s very cool.”

There’s a distinct silence. Poe rubs at his eyes, yawning. Someone’s got to start making sure that moron gets enough sleep.

“You need to sleep,” Finn says. “Somewhere that isn’t a chair.”

“I _like_ the chair,” Poe lies, and makes to sit down on it. Finn stops him pretty effectively by grabbing at his wrist, then drops it promptly once he thinks it through.

Poe, shifting unsurely from foot to foot, plumps for the chair.

Finn looks away, out of the window and at the view of D’Qar’s night-time sky and its blanket of stars.

Then Poe starts talking, rambling on about some abandoned base that his squadron found in the Anoat sector that the General’s excited about, until Finn says, “Dude, I can’t take this anymore.”

“Oh,” Poe says, “am I _boring_ you, we just found-”

Finn looks back at him. “Stand up,” he says. His voice sounds strong enough, but Rey can tell most of his confidence is all air.

“Uhm,” Poe says, looking up at him, “I’m actually pretty beat. Are you okay?”

“Never been better,” Finn replies, shuffling off the bunk and standing in front of Poe’s chair. He places one of his hands on the slope of Poe’s shoulder, carefully, his thumb brushing the exposed skin of Poe’s neck.

“What are you doing?” Poe asks quietly, so soft Rey nearly doesn’t catch it.

“I don’t really know,” Finn says, just as quiet, fisting one hand in Poe’s flight suit and pulling him to his feet, and then he leans in and kisses him, long and tender. Poe slides his hand to the back of Finn’s neck, and his other one to Finn’s waist, and when Finn breaks away he says, “Are you gonna kiss me again, or what?.”

Finn shivers. “Sucker,” he says, kissing at Poe’s oil-stained jaw and tugging him closer.

 

Silently, Rey slips out of the shadows of medbay and into the adjoining corridor, shaking out the familiar aches in her shoulders. Finn’s going to be unbearable tomorrow, she reasons; he’ll want to tell her all about it.

Rey’s looking forward to it.


End file.
